The Number Killer
by sequelhook
Summary: Weeks have passed since a message signalling Moriarty's return was flashed across London and Sherlock is obsessed with finding out where Moriarty is hiding. However, Moriarty must take a back seat when a killer, who brands his victims, begins to kill again.


**A/N: Story takes place after season 3. Enjoy.**

John opens the door to 221B and stands at the foot of the stairs. Dust catches the light and filters in through the door, moving in that familiar way. He can hear Mrs. Hudson singing to herself through the crack of the door to her flat. She must be baking again. What was not usual, however, was the silence coming from the upstairs flat. No violin, no sound of shoes or bare feet passing back and forth, no loud deductions; just silence.

John lets out a sigh and hops up the stairs. Before he can even walk through the door's threshold Sherlock's voice suddenly filters through the dust-caked air.

"Hello, John." Sherlock is sitting on his chair, which he has pushed over to face the wall. He sits forward with his elbows digging into his knees and his hands clasped in front of his face. He doesn't even glance at John as he speaks but continues to stare at the seemingly endless papers taped to the wall.

John stands at the door flexing his gloved fingers in frustration.

"It's good to see you're your usual self then." John stares incredulously at Sherlock, who remains unmoving.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Considering you haven't talked to anyone or left your flat, for that matter, in nearly three weeks, one could assume the worst." John silently stares at Sherlock again, who chooses to completely ignore him this time. John glances at the wall then let out a sigh as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Sherlock…" When he doesn't respond John lets out a huff of air and steps in front of the wall. "Could you actually pretend you're listening to me?" Sherlock suddenly snaps into action, standing from the chair and walking behind it. He sticks his hands in his pockets and paces slowly.

"I'm listening." Sherlock sighs as he speaks, like a child knowing he is about to be reprimanded. And like a parent doing the reprimanding John sighs and shakes his head.

"It's been weeks since Moriarty, or whoever, played that message all over London. And nothing has happened. You can't just stay staring at that wall all day. You have a life and other responsibilities for that matter." Sherlock stops pacing to stare at John incredulously.

"Finding Moriarty is my responsibility. I am the only person in the world that is his equal."

"I know that Sherlock, we all know that." John steps forward lowering his voice as if he was preventing anyone else from hearing his words. "But you are becoming obsessed…" Sherlock rolls his eyes and turns to take a few steps away from John. He was signaling that he was no longer interested in what John has to say, but the smaller man isn't having it. He is quick to follow Sherlock who is now standing at the window. "Sherlock, you look like you haven't eaten or slept in days when you do take a case, which has become rare you're barely focused and now you're ignoring everybody that needs you!" John sighs and gives Sherlock a stern look. "We need you, Sherlock." When Sherlock scoffs John narrows his eyes.

"Please, Lestrade has provided me nothing but dull cases." Sherlock walks back over to the wall and gestures to it with his hands. "This, this is what truly matters John. Everything else is just trivial." Before John can even think to respond Sherlock's phone begins to ring. John looks down at the phone sitting on the table while Sherlock doesn't even turn or indicate in any other way that he has heard it. John steps forward and snatches the phone off the table. He doesn't glance at the phone before he shoves it into Sherlock's chest.

"Answer the bloody phone Sherlock, you know it's Lestrade." Sherlock takes the phone while maintaining a blank expression. Before answering it, he steps away from the wall and speaks sarcastically.

"Doing deductions I see, maybe you should be the one solving all these cases then." Sherlock lifts the phone to his ear, speaking to the person on the other end. "Sherlock Holmes." As he silently listens a smirk begins to form over his face. "I see. I'll be there shortly." Without another word Sherlock hangs up and shoves the phone back into his pocket. When he turns to John he is watching him expectantly.

"Well…"

"There finally seems to be a case worth leaving the flat for." Sherlock strides over to his coat and scarf hanging by the door. He quickly pulls them off and wraps them around himself. "Now, it would seem, this case is far more interesting." He quickly opens the door and runs down the stairs as he shouts back at John. "Far too interesting to let Scotland Yard handle it! Let's go John!"

"And what makes you think I'm coming with you?!" John stands at the top of the stairs listening as Sherlock's feet bang against each step then suddenly come to a stop.

"Mary called me." John lets out an exasperated sigh before he runs down the stairs. When he makes it outside Sherlock is standing by the road already hailing a cab.

"So, you'll answer when Mary calls you but not me."

"Off course, she calls me ever Sunday." John's eyebrows knit in confusion as he turns to look at Sherlock. A black cab pulls up and Sherlock is already climbing inside when John finally decides to speak.

"I'm sure I'll regret this, but what exactly do you two talk about?"

"You." John shakes his head and speaks softly to himself as he climbs into the cab after Sherlock.

"Of course you bloody do…"

* * *

The cab comes to a quick stop just before going over the Serpentine Bridge at Hyde Park. When Sherlock and John step out of the cab they can see police tape, police, cars and a small crowd of reporters near the bank of the Serpentine.

Sherlock walks quickly with long strides forcing John to jog slightly in order to catch up with him. When they are walking side by side John glances at Sherlock who is walking with his head held high and his coat collar flipped up, basically in the "I'm better than everyone" sort of way.

"So, why is this case so interesting?" John looks up a Sherlock, who at first doesn't answer. When they reach the police tape Sherlock lifts it to let himself through then steps to the side in order to let John through.

"I would think it was fairly obvious." John stops after going under the tape and lets out an exasperated sigh.

"Explain it to me anyway." They continue walking as Sherlock begins to speak.

"As you already know, 10 years ago four people were killed one week apart. It was determined they were killed by the same person because of the killer's signature." Sherlock glances at John who nods as he speaks.

"I remember hearing about this. The killer burnt the number one, the number two, the number three and the number four into the backs of his victims in the order that they were killed."

"Exactly, but the burns were not fresh and were not put there after they died. What does that tell you?" Sherlock stops and turns to John who suddenly stops walking. He is looking at Sherlock with narrowed eyes indicating that he is thinking.

"If the wounds had time to heal that means…"

"Yes?"

"That means, the killer branded them but didn't kill them immediately." Sherlock nods and they begin walking again.

"Precisely. The wounds were a week old meaning the killer abducted his victims, branded them with a number then held them captive for one week before killing them. After killing four women he disappeared. 10 days ago a body was discovered with the number five branded into their body. It seemed like more of the same…"

"But?" They both stop when they reach the bank of the water. There are several people standing around a body, one of them is Greg Lestrade.

"You'll see." Sherlock walks straight over to the crowd of police and John follows him. When they are only a few feet away Lestrade spots them and waves them over.

"Well, it's about time you showed up. I almost thought I would have to go over to that flat of yours and drag you out." Lestrade nods to acknowledge John who nods back. Sherlock doesn't acknowledge him and goes straight to the body to kneel beside it.

"That would be truly ambitious of you." The body is a young woman with dark skin. She is lying on her stomach with her face looking downwards and unseen by everyone. She is wearing tight jeans and trainers, but her shirt is missing allowing the large number five burnt into her back to be visible.

Lestrade steps to the side allowing John to walk past him. He quickly gestures to the other police officers who are standing around the body watching.

"Alright, everyone steps back for a few minutes and let them work." When everyone walks off Lestrade walks back over to John and Sherlock. John is crouching by the woman's face and Sherlock is crouching on the opposite side of her body, using his magnifying glass to look at the wound. "So, give me what you have so far."

Sherlock stands up with a sigh as he places the magnifying glass back in his pocket.

"The only thing significant to this killer is his signature. He abducts women, brands them, and holds them captive. There is no pattern to his victims. His last was a Caucasian woman in her late forties," Sherlock points down at the woman on the ground, "this woman is in her early thirties, of Indian decent. However, his MO has changed."

"The wound on her back is only 72 hours old." Both Sherlock and Lestrade look at John who is getting up from the ground. "She's been dead 2 or 3 hours. She died of asphyxiation. The bruises on her neck indicated she was strangled." Sherlock walks around the body looking closely at everything about it, but he seems stumped by something. There is something wrong here, but he can't put his finger on it.

"Maybe it's a copycat." Lestrade scratches the top of his head. Sherlock was quick to reply.

"No, the killer is the same. Sherlock begins pacing back and forth as he gestures at the body below them. "There are only so many ways to burn a person in this way. The item he uses to inflict the wound is made by him, reshaped for every victim, every dent and mark and imperfection on the object is present on the victims. The killer is the same, but he's changing." Sherlock stops pacing and lets out a sigh. "Why is he changing?"

"What about the last victim, number four?" John looks to Lestrade who is still looking down at the body, even more perplexed than Sherlock.

"The last victim was Keri Carter. She moved to London from France a year before she was killed."

"She was like the first three victims then?" John asks. Lestrade nods, scratching his head again.

"According to her file the burn was a week old just like the other victims." Sherlock scoffs causing the others to look at him.

"The last victim doesn't matter. This victim is where the change happened this is the one that matters." John gives Sherlock a look.

"Sherlock." He looked up at John and narrows his eyes in confusion at the look John is giving him.

"What?"

"These are people... in case you forgot." Sherlock clears his throat and turns to Lestrade.

"What do you know about this victim?"

"Well, there wasn't any identification on the body so we have to wait for-" Sherlock rolls his eyes and begins to walk away before Lestrade can finish. John and Lestrade look at each other for a moment before they chase after him.

"Sherlock!"

"I'll find out myself, I'm much faster."

"Remember Sherlock; don't go off on your own!" Lestrade lets out a sigh and turns back towards the crime scene. "Alright let's finish up here." Once again John has to jog to catch up with Sherlock. He stares at Sherlock noticing something off about his behavior.

"Sherlock, what's going on with you? You barely even looked at the crime scene and you didn't even bother to ask about the other victims." When Sherlock scoffs John narrows his eyes at him.

"Like I said before, all that is trivial. Focus on the important things and we can get back what truly matters." John stops walking, but Sherlock doesn't seem to notice. As Sherlock begins to hail a cab John stares at him and shakes his head. With a long sigh, he jogs to Sherlock's side just as a cab pulls up beside him.

* * *

Several hours later after night has already fallen a young woman with thick curly brown hair is lying in bed asleep. Behind her bed is a large window. A creaking sound can be heard as the wood protests to it being forced open. When the wood finally gives the window starts to open and a gloved hand appears to reach underneath the window, grasp it and push it upwards.

A dark figure steps inside the room. He stands above her bed in the darkness grasping something in his hand. He slowly leans forward reaching out to touch her hair. After he gingerly moves her hair from her face he grasps a few curly locks and breaths in the scent. Her hair is still wet from a shower and still holds the scent of her shampoo. After a moment, he releases her hair, lifting his opposite arm at the same time. He is holding a needle in his hand and he quickly jabs it into the side of her neck.

She lets out a gasp in her sleep but quickly relaxes, seemingly falling deeper into sleep.

* * *

The next morning Sherlock finds himself standing in front of the wall of papers again but this time he isn't facing it. Instead, he is facing away. His hands are pressing together in front of his face as he looks down at the files laid out on the table in front of him. At the edge of the table, a plate of food sits untouched. Suddenly there is a sound of someone walking up the stairs. Sherlock only manages a glance as John walks into the flat. The first thing John notices is the full plate on the table. He lets out a sigh.

"I don't think Mrs. Hudson will be too happy that you let your breakfast go to waste again." Sherlock bent down to flip to the next page of one of his folders.

"I don't have time for that now. Food will have to wait." As Sherlock flips through another page John crouches down to read some of it.

"Jenna Sing. Is that the name of the dead woman?" John looks up at Sherlock who doesn't take his gaze away from the files as he speaks.

"Yes, it only took me a few hours to acquire it. Unlike the police force." Sherlock sits down on the couch, his hands going to the famous Holmes position. John lets the comment slide as he sighs then sits next to Sherlock.

"What did you discover then?"

"Nothing." Sherlock's reply is so quick John is almost convinced he hears wrong. His head turns suddenly as he stares at Sherlock with a confused expression.

"Nothing? _You_ , learned nothing?" Sherlock rolls his eyes at John's obvious confusion.

"Nothing of substance, in any case." Sherlock gestures to the files as he speaks. "Five women, murdered. All varying ages, ethnicities and countries of origin." Sherlock glances at John as he interrupts his train of thought.

"The killer doesn't look for a specific type of victim then?"

"No, there is no obvious pattern with these victims. We have to determine why he chose these women. That way we can figure out when he'll strike again." Sherlock flips the file closed.

"You think he's going to kill someone else?"

"At the rate he's going it's only a matter of time." Sherlock sits silently as John shifts in his seat. John glances at the table. He notices a newspaper is sticking out from underneath one of the files. John lifts it off the table. The first thing he notices is the large picture of himself and Sherlock at the crime scene from the day before. The headline reads "Sherlock Holmes is on the Case."

"It's only been a day and you're already all over the newspapers." As John flips through it Sherlock, who had been deep in thought glances at the newspaper then rolls his eyes.

"Reading the tabloids John, how dull." John closes the newspaper and allows it to fall into his lap. He looks at Sherlock incredulously as he speaks.

"If this is so beneath you why do you have it then?" Sherlock's mouth drops open. His eyes dart back and forth for a moment as he hesitates.

"It isn't mine. I confiscated it from Mrs. Hudson." John lets out a breath. As he speaks the sound of someone walking up the stairs can be heard.

"I'm sure you did." John and Sherlock turn towards the door as Mrs. Hudson pokes her head in and taps her fist lightly against the wall. Someone can be heard walking up the stair behind her.

"Ooh! Ooh! Sherlock, you have a visitor." When Mrs. Hudson notices John a large smile forms on her face. "Oh John, it's so lovely to see you!" John smiles. He stands from the couch allowing Mrs. Hudson to pull him into a hug and kiss his cheek. "How's Mary? How's the baby?"

"They are both wonderful Mrs. Hudson, thank you for asking." Mrs. Hudson smile broadens as she poked John in the chest.

"If you ever need any help with the baby, someone to watch her, you call me you understand John Watson?" John smiles and nods.

"Of course, Mary doesn't want her out and about London quite yet but in a few weeks I'll be happy to bring her by." John smiles at Mrs. Hudson, who rubs his arm. At that moment, Greg Lestrade walks through the door. With an exasperated sigh, he walks straight to Sherlock, who is watching John and Mrs. Hudson with some disinterest.

"Sherlock." At the sound of his name Sherlock stands.

"Greg-uh-Graham." Lestrade let out a heavy sigh and shacks his head. John turns towards Sherlock and gestures towards Lestrade.

"You got it right the first time." Sherlock looks surprised.

"Did I?" Before John can reply Lestrade cuts in sharply.

"Yes. Now what do you have for me Sherlock, you said it was important?" Sherlock claps his hands together. In two long strides, he grabs his phone from his chair and begins typing furiously.

"Ah, yes. The latest victim's name is Jenna Sing. She is originally from Ireland. Contact her friends and family, ask them about her. Where she goes, what she does, and who she spends her time with." Sherlock shoves his phone in his pocket and walks across the room to put his coat on. While Sherlock was speaking Lestrade had pulled his phone from his pocket. He is already dialing as he speaks to Sherlock.

"What are you going to do then?"

"We are going to the victims flat. There's a good chance the killer might have been there. If he was-"

"He could have left something behind." Sherlock gives John a quick nod. Without another word both Sherlock and John bolt out of the flat and jog down the stairs. With a quick smile to Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade leaves moments after them. He holds his phone to his ear as he speaks to Sergeant Donovan on the other line and relays to her everything Sherlock has told him.

With a sigh, Mrs. Hudson looks around. She places her hands on her hips. The flat is in a terrible state; with trash, plates, and unfinished food practically covering every surface. With a shake of her head, she walks into the kitchen and searches one of the draws for trash bags.

* * *

The cab pulls up to a large apartment complex. Sherlock steps out with John right behind him. As they walk towards the door a young man with a golden retriever is just making his way through the front door. Seeing this as an opportunity to get inside John runs past Sherlock and catches the door right before it closes on him. He holds it for Sherlock who reaches him in a few quick strides.

"Sherlock, how are we supposed to get into her flat without the key?" Sherlock wordlessly reaches into his pocket and pulls out one of Lestrade's badges.

"I'm sure the landlord will be happy to let in the Detective Inspector." John shakes his head as they walk inside. The lobby of the building is large, with a lounge in the center and a help desk on the opposite side. At the desk, a middle-aged woman is sitting in front of one of the several computers and typing. She doesn't notice as John and Sherlock approach her so when Sherlock slams his hand on the counter top she practically jumps out of her skin. She looks up at Sherlock who gives her his biggest, fakest smile. After taking a moment to compose herself, she smiles back.

"Can I help you?" Sherlock pulls out Lestrade's badge once again and holds it up in front of her.

"I believe you can." The woman quickly stands, her hands nervously rubbing the wrinkles out of her skirt.

"How can I help you Detective Inspector? Has something happened?" Sherlock drops his smile and nods his head.

"I'm afraid so Mrs.…?"

"Mathews."

"Of course. Mrs. Mathews, I'm afraid someone living in this complex, a Ms. Jenna Sing, has recently died." When Mrs. Mathews gasps in shock, her hand going up to cover her mouth Sherlock purses his lips and nods in fake sympathy.

"How dreadful!"

"Yes," Sherlock gestures to John, "My associate and I need to search her flat. Will you take us to it?" Mrs. Mathews pulls open her desk drawer and takes out a link of keys. She runs around the front desk and leads Sherlock and John straight to the elevator.

"Of course, of course!" When the elevator arrives they all step inside. "Oh, dear, Jenna was such a wonderful girl." John speaks softly to Mrs. Mathews who is shaking her head in disbelief.

"Did you know her well?"

"A little bit. She always stopped by my desk every morning before she walked to work." She shakes her head and let out a heavy sigh. "This is truly terrible!" The elevator opens on the third floor. "It's this first one right here." Mrs. Mathews walks straight to the door and stands before it. She holds up the keys and takes a moment to search for the right one. It is only a few seconds before she is inserting the key and opening the door. She steps aside to allow John and Sherlock to walk passed her. "I'll leave you two to work. If you need anything I'll be downstairs." When Sherlock doesn't respond John quickly turns around and nods towards her.

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Mathews." John walks into the living room and turns on the light. The flat was small, the kitchen barely big enough for three people to stand in, the living room is only big enough for a couch, a TV, and a small table with four chairs and the bedroom only had a night table and a queen sized bed in it.

They both walk around silently as Sherlock scans the area for anything that can be useful. The flat may be small, but it is clean. There is barely even a speck of dust on any of the furniture. After a few minutes of silence, John turns to Sherlock who is still scanning the flat.

"So, anything unusual?" With a heavy sigh, Sherlock steps farther into the living room.

"No, nothing is out of the ordinary.

"How can you tell?" Sherlock gestures around the room.

"Everything is clean and in its place. If the killer came here and left something behind it would have been accidental. It would have been something that clearly didn't belong." Sherlock walks towards a large window and looks down towards the street. He can see cars rushing by. Across the street is a bus stop with a long black bench. "He never came inside."

"What do you mean?" John walks over to the window in an attempt to understand what Sherlock is interpreting."

"Do you see the bus stop?" When John nods Sherlock continues. "He would have waited for her there. Every day when she walked outside he followed her. Serial killers like to do that."

"So he gets to know his victims? He learns there schedules so he can keep tabs on them?"

"Yes, he abducted all of his victims in the middle of the day. The only way he could do that without catching someone's attention is to find a moment when they are most vulnerable. He would have handpicked them and followed them for-" John looks away from the street when Sherlock cut his monolog short. John stares at him with worry and confusion as Sherlock stares out the window with wide eyes.

"Sherlock?"

"The pattern." John furrows his eyebrows in confusion and turns completely so he is facing Sherlock.

"Pattern? What are you on about?" Sherlock steps quickly away from the window and turns on his heel to face John. His face is bright with excitement.

"The pattern John! There is a pattern!" Sherlock begins pacing quickly. He throws his arm up and points at the front door. "When we were in the elevator with Mrs. Mathews what did she say about Jenna Sing?" John thinks for a moment.

"She said she talked to her every morning before she walked to work."

"Yes exactly! Humans are creatures of habit. The killer was able to find out where they were most vulnerable because each victim had a routine that they stuck to every day."

"So, why does that matter?" Sherlock throws up his hands, annoyed John doesn't understand.

"It's simple John! Jenna Sing walked to work every morning. When they found the body of the fourth victim, Keri Carter, she had a bus pass in her pocket and the first two victims both had Oyster Cards."

"So, none of them had a car."

"Not just that. Like I said, humans are creatures of habit. They would have traveled the same way every day. They may not have known each other, but they crossed paths on a constant basis. If we know the route they each took and where those routes converged-" John's eyes widen in realization.

"We'll know where the killer chose his Victims!"

"Exactly!" Sherlock turns and bolts for the door with John right on his heels. "Call Lestrade and tell him to meet us back at Baker Street!"

* * *

Back at 221B Mrs. Hudson is humming to herself as she walks down the steps of Sherlock's flat carrying two trash bags in her hands. She exists through the back of the building and walks down the back steps in order to take the trash to her bins. She places the bags on the ground to free her hands and opens the trash lid. As see is throwing the trash away she doesn't notice a young woman slowly emerge from around the corner. The young woman slowly walks towards the building, watching Mrs. Hudson for any signs that she is about to turn around. Once up the stairs the young woman darts inside barely making it before Mrs. Hudson turns around and walks back inside.

The young woman quickly makes her way to the front of the building and up the stairs. Finding the front door to Sherlock's flat open she makes her way inside listening carefully for any sign that someone is walking around. Feeling that she is safe, she begins to search the flat. As she looks through the desk by the window a black cab can be seen pulling up behind a police car that Detective Inspector Lestrade is leaning against.

The young woman walks over to the table by the couch and spots the pile of police files. She hesitates for a moment before she leans down to open the first folder. Her hand stops short, however, when she hears the front door opening. She steps away from the table and walks towards the stairs in order to hear better. As soon as she hears footfall on the steps she curses to herself and runs around the corner to hide behind the wall separating the living room and the kitchen.

Sherlock walks in the flat and stops dead in his tracks he looks around the room with narrowed eyes as Lestrade and John walk in behind him.

"Greg there has to be a way we can talk to the friends and family of the first four victims." John stops and turns to Lestrade who lets out an exasperated sigh.

"I know, but they may be impossible to find. This case has been cold for ten years and none of the victims were originally from London to begin with. Everyone they knew could be anywhere by now." John let out a sigh and turns to Sherlock, who was still looking around the room.

"Sherlock what should we do now?" When Sherlock doesn't answer John turns completely to face him. "Are you even listening to me?" When Sherlock still ignores him John huffs and walks around him so he is standing in front of him. "Sherlock." Sherlock suddenly snaps out of it making a sound of recognition. "What did I just say, Sherlock?"

"You asked if I was listening to you." John gives him a look.

"Before that."

"I don't know I wasn't listening." John rolls his eyes and begins to speak again as Sherlock walks around him and walks over to the desk by the window.

"I asked you what we should do about finding the friends and family of the victims." Sherlock takes a desk chair and pulls it towards the two lounge chairs by the fireplace. "If we don't know their movements we won't know where the killer chose his victims… What are you doing?" Sherlock places the chair between his and John's lounge chairs. He walks around the desk chair then falls back into his seat.

"Well, it would seem we have a client." Sherlock looks passed John and Lestrade towards the kitchen. John and Lestrade look at each other than in the same direction as Sherlock. "You can come out now." Now that she has been caught the young woman has no other option but to come out of hiding. She slowing steps out from the kitchen, fear written across her face. Before she can utter a word Sherlock speaks again. "American… interesting." She stares at Sherlock with surprise.

"How did you know?" Before Sherlock can say anything John looks between the two clearly confused.

"What the… How did you get in here? Did you break in?" John turns to Lestrade.

"You were outside the bloody flat how did someone break in?" Lestrade sputters for a moment before he turns his attention back to the girl.

"What are you doing in here? I should arrest you for this." Lestrade and John both turn towards Sherlock when he speaks.

"Don't bother. She isn't here to steal anything. "Sherlock gestures to the chair. "Please sit down." She hesitates for a moment before she walks past John and Lestrade to sit in the chair. Sherlock can't help but notice the way her body flinched through the movement.

After a moment's hesitation John walks to his chair and sits as well while Lestrade moves over to the fireplace and leans against the wall. John is the first to speak.

"So why have you broken into this flat then?" Before she can speak Sherlock interjects.

"Whatever is in this flat is clearly important enough that you would come here instead of going to hospital." John turns quickly towards Sherlock, alarmed by his statement. He then looks back at the woman and does a quick once over but doesn't see anything concerning.

"You're injured?" She swallowed and nodded.

"I can't go to the hospital… and I needed to know about the case." Lestrade steps away from the wall.

"What case?"

"The one all over the news. The one about a killer returning after ten years." She hesitates for a moment. "I needed to know if they had numbers on their backs too." Sherlock sat up and leaned towards her clearly intrigued.

"That information was never released to the public. How do you know about the numbers?" Sherlock, John, and Lestrade watch silently as she reaches for her jacket and unzips it. She takes it off and hangs it on the chair before standing up and turning around. Their eyes go wide as she lifts up her shirt revealing the number six burnt into her back.

 **A/N: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. It's been years since I've written anything so I'm nervous about returning to fanfiction. I tried to write this like it was a normal episode so I hope that came across.**

 **Thanks again,**

 **Sequelhook**


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